


Unspoken - December 1993

by swannkings



Series: Portrait of Imogen Swift [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: Attempted Murder, Gen, Post-Hogwarts, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 14:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swannkings/pseuds/swannkings
Summary: It's been two years since Imogen Swift left Hogwarts and her work has lead her back to Hogsmeade on the coldest, darkest night of the year.





	Unspoken - December 1993

Hogsmeade was several feet deep in snow. Narrow paths down the lanes and up to homes and places of businesses had been cleared. Imogen had arrived just after six-o’clock in the evening and had immediately booked a room at the Hog’s Head Inn, deposited her things, and took the short walk to the Three Broomsticks for a drink and chat with Madam Rosmerta. The pub was still bright and warm, although quiet. On her way up to the pub she’d seen the Dementors on patrol. Even just passing them made the already frigid atmosphere of the village more bitterly disparaging.

Rosmerta was happy to see her. She asked how London was treating her, how her family was fairing, what had brought her to the village on such a nasty night?  _ Good, well, work. _ What is it you do again?  _ Desk work at the Ministry. Nothing fancy, a lot of auditing.  _ Rosmerta asked about Sirius Black, but Imogen had nothing to tell her. The Ministry was looking for him, there were aurors answering leads and tracking clues. Rita Skeeter was having a ball. Imogen had heard talk of refortifying Azkaban with dragons, but it seemed unlikely. The cost alone of transferring dragons from across the channel and keeping them concealed from muggles, not to mention the expected pushback from activists.

No. There wasn’t any news of Jacob.

Imogen hated the thought of leaving the pub, but did so anyway. When she stepped back into the Hog’s Head, she swore the air inside was colder than the snow drifts. She went up to her room, but did not light the fire. Instead, she unpacked the old red jumper she’d accidentally swiped from Bill Weasley five years before. He’d already grown out of it by end of term, and wasn’t sad to see it go. For Imogen’s sake, she was glad Mrs Weasley knew how to craft a tight weave, even if it were scratchy. She pulled the jumper on over her own store bought one, and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. The air just seemed to get colder and colder.

From her window she could see the castle. It was Christmas break and many of the students would have already left to spend the holidays with their families. There were lights on in the towers. She felt for the parcel in her pocket. It was still there. The plan was to head up to the school the next morning, speak with Dumbledore, and be done with it. But if she went now, undercover of dark, she would less likely be noticed. The parcel weighed heavy in her hand.

Imogen pulled up her hood and headed out of the village. She kept her broom low, following the road through the woods. She held her wand to the end of her broom,  _ Lumos _ lighting the way. Later she would realize the wind had cut all other sounds, and it wasn’t her fault she didn’t hear the spell before it hit her. Near halfway through the forest, a blast of blue light connected with her broom, sending it spinning into the trees after flinging her off against the trunk of a large tree. In a panic, Imogen scramble to locate her wand, finding it three feet away in the snow. She gripped it tight and flicked twice, sending a bright white light into the trees opposite, illuminating where she couldn’t naturally see. There was no one there. She cast the spell once more, still nothing. Her hand went to her pocket. Still there.

She started running, tripping over herself in the snow, and quickly tiring herself. Her lungs burned from the cold, her shoulder ached where she’d hit the tree. Then she heard it, a crunch of snow behind her. She cast the disarming charm over her shoulder, but it didn’t connect. The figure was tall and dressed all in black. Not a Dementor. She tried again, but the figure countered, again, again. Quickly, Imogen cast  _ Vermillious _ , sending up a flare of red sparks. Her opponent flicked their wand. Imogen wasn’t quick enough to counter, and the spell cut into her as she turned, first her wand arm then across her back, throwing her forward into the drift.

A warm sensation spread from the wounds, then turned icy as the wind blew. Imogen tried to reach her wand, but found it too difficult to move through the searing pain. The stranger was beside her, using their foot to lift and flip her over, digging into Imogen’s ribs. She tried to push them away, but her body was tired and weak, her hands colder as the blood flowed away. They bent over her, rifled through her pockets and found the parcel. She couldn't see a face under the hood, only the glint of metal. When they spoke, it was muffled.

“It won't be long,” they said, stepping back. In a burst of air, they were gone.

Imogen lay there in the Dark, listening to the trees creak, feeling the snow melt beneath her. Every shallow breath stung. Her body was heavy and immovable. She wondered if she could Apparate back to Hogsmeade, or to the school, or if she would only risk killing herself quicker.

_ Should have waited. Should have waited. Why didn't I realize? What will Rita say about us now? I didn't see. _

The stars overhead faded behind a gray hazy light. She closed her eyes and listened to the slow thump of her heart as it tried and tried to keep her alive.


End file.
